


Little Red Three

by itachitachi



Series: TW Mating Games '13 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (derek is actually successful at something), (probably because he was not actually involved), F/F, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hunters & Hunting, Manipulation, Multi, Seduction, Sex In A Cave, ps: i don't know what the ages are so imagine what you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One human, two human, three human. Hunting for wolves, they say.</p><p>One wolf, two wolf, three wolf. Hunting for fun, they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red Three

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for one week or other at the 2013 TW Mating Games. That's why it's so randomly abstract and full of vague porn. :D Enjoy!

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. In the hush, the three of them lie in wait: red-hooded, whisper-quiet, and armed with arrows and purple powder.

They're waiting for a wolf to come along.

***

"We're not _children_ anymore," Allison says. "We're going out to hunt."

"You don't even know what a wolf looks like, Allison," her mother says, eyes piercing and cold. "You have years yet to join us. The hunter's way is patience. _Be patient_."

They have never been patient.

***

Some hunters work best alone, but they have always been strongest as a team. As they trained, they chose complementary skills: Allison as their offense, the taut bowstring; Stiles their invisible shield; and Lydia the purple dust in the cracks, ready to take down anyone who touches them.

They find no wolves the first day, so hunker down to sleep in a small hollow, leaves camouflaging their presence. The air is surprisingly warm, and clustered together they are even warmer. Lydia complains of dirt under her nails but curls her head under Allison's chin just the same. Across Lydia is Stiles—his arm stretches over both of them, and his hand rests in the curve of Allison's waist.

Sleep is easy.

***

When they wake, they aren't alone.

"You look comfortable," a boy says.

Allison freezes. She can just see the curly top of the intruder's head over Lydia's shoulder.

Stiles stretches outrageously and rolls over, smacking his lips and yawning.

"You must be new here," the boy says, his grin sharp and white-toothed. "To the woods. Welcome."

***

The boy's name is Isaac.

"Wolves?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised. "You see those deeper in the woods, sometimes. I can guide you, if you want."

They're standing around him in a circle, arms crossed. They glance at each other, weighing and flinging opinions with their eyes.

Allison decides.

***

Isaac is lightfooted, and leads them through the woods in almost perfect silence. The forest gets warmer, and darker, the farther in they go.

Allison takes the rear. She's watching when Isaac pauses to show something to Stiles, leaning gently into his space.

"Do you trust him?" Lydia murmurs between the branches.

"I'm not sure," Allison says. "I don't think he's leading us astray."

Up ahead, Isaac whispers something into Stiles' ear, lips brushing the curve of it.

Lydia looks back at Allison. "Are you sure?"

***

They stop for the night; Isaac says they are halfway there.

The heat is sweltering. Allison peels out of her leather, and though she still has a tank top beneath she feels oddly naked. Lydia and Stiles watch her under their eyelashes, and she smiles shyly back at them.

Isaac isn't looking at all, head tilted down and away. Somehow that's just as thrilling.

Lydia takes off her red hood, leaving just the color of her hair to spill around her shoulders. Stiles' forehead is shiny with sweat; he pulls off all three of his shirts and wipes his face with them. Lydia loops her finger in his belt loop and pulls him close.

"I'll sleep outside," Isaac says, eyes oddly bright.

"No," Allison says, glancing back at Stiles and Lydia. "Maybe—stay."

***

It's too warm to sleep, so they don't.

Lydia and Stiles pin her to the ground, kissing open-mouthed across her body. She groans, fitful, and grabs Lydia by the hair, stealing her for a kiss of their own. It's hard and animalistic, it's wet and full of teeth. It's just what she needs.

"Do you—" Stiles asks, hesitating with a hand on her thigh.

She says, " _yes_ ," and spreads her legs, an invitation. He moans a little, trembling, and slides his fingers closer, almost in. They've never gone this far before.

"I can just watch," Isaac says, his voice low and lazy. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Touch if you want," Lydia tells him, a dare. "We've invited you, haven't we?"

"Yes," he says, licking his lips. "I suppose you have."

They are all a bit possessive, the three of them, but Isaac still finds a place in their midst. He's a bit of a biter, leaving red hickeys on the inside of Allison's thighs. He's in the midst of leaving one on Stiles' neck when a twist of Lydia's wrist has him coming suddenly, unexpectedly.

Allison isn't sure, but she thinks she might have seen—teeth.

"A battle wound," Stiles laughs afterward. His neck is blotched purple and red, but the skin itself is unbroken. Isaac hums and noses at the spot, fingers splayed wide across Stiles' chest.

***

In the morning, when Allison wakes, the four of them have turned into five. A blonde girl crouches beside where Isaac is curled, her short jacket lined with fur. Her lips are redder than Lydia's, her eyeliner darker, and her gaze doesn't stray from Allison once.

Allison wants to tear her open. Or maybe apart.

***

Stiles and Isaac are ahead again, Lydia keeping an eye on them. Erica lingers behind, with Allison.

"What's the bow for?" Erica asks.

"We're here to hunt," Allison says. "Wolves."

Erica raises an eyebrow, prompting.

"I use a bow because it's the only way to hunt a wolf," Allison says. "From a distance."

***

The night is hotter than the one before. Erica is more aggressive than Isaac, has Allison on her back and coming hard in a matter of minutes.

"Oh—god," Allison pants, Erica's fingers still inside her.

"Another?" Erica asks, eyes intent and almost golden.

"No, I," Allison says, still unsteady. She clutches at Lydia's hand and turns her face away. It's too much.

***

Then in the morning, they are six. The new one, Boyd, is nearly twice Lydia's size, but he's quiet, and bends his head to listen when she speaks.

The shift in their numbers makes Allison uneasy, but there's nothing to do about it. The only way left is forward.

***

By now the trees themselves drip, as if they too are sweating. The air is choking and thick-hot. Allison can only hope her bowstring will hold up when she needs it.

There has been no sign of a wolf for the entire journey, until suddenly—there is.

He is black and red and stands in the middle of the path, staring directly at them.

Allison draws, but time is thick like molasses. She glances to her right, where Isaac has Stiles backed up against a tree, teeth pressed to the livid bruising on his neck. To her left, Boyd is stumbling, purple dust smeared across his face from Lydia's hands.

The fletching is almost to Allison's ear when she is caught from behind. Erica twists her into an armlock, chest pressed all against Allison's back and sharp claws scraping along her skin. Allison loses grip of her bow, the arrow and haft falling uselessly to the ground.

Her legs shake. Her thighs burn like fire, in little shapes like teeth, and the center of her feels hot, like there are still fingers inside.

"My dear," Erica says, brushing her nose down the line of Allison's throat. "What capable hands you have."

Allison's stomach sinks, but she dredges up her courage and says, "All the better to shoot you with, when you let me go."

"Don't _tease_ me like that," Erica whispers, smirking. "I bite, you know."

Up ahead, the wolf is not a wolf anymore, but a man. The way he glances over Allison—almost dismissive—makes her grit her teeth with rage.

"Let us go," she demands of him.

He raises an eyebrow, eyes inhumanly red. "Why would I do that?"

She flushes, all the wrong words sticking in her chest. Behind her, Erica laughs.

"You're mine," he says simply.

***

Allison's parents had always told her this, but she had never quite understood:

There is nothing more dangerous to a hunter than love.


End file.
